New lens, no ideas.
Floor time. Life is too hard time.
What is art?
What do I have to say?

Nothing, something. Well, there was something.
Wasn’t there? On the tip of our tongue?
In the back of our mind?
Jotted on the margins of a page?

Losing light. Losing patience.

Was there any left to give?

Yes, yes, this is the only thing left!
Ok, ok, so we need to write. shoot. unfinished theories await.

Wait. That was it!

What was?

That one song, fits that photo in our head.

I can’t see it.

Well shit… …neither can I.
Did it fit with that little poem?

Which one?

The one on the back of the envelope.

Yes! It starts out like
there’s a ghost in my home
and she’s ———————